


with her hair falling into place like dominoes

by taare



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/F, Past Lin/Tenzin - Freeform, Pining (lots of it), hair used as a terrible metaphor for growth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:16:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28829508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taare/pseuds/taare
Summary: character study of lin through the ages feat. hair loopies, braids, buns, and of course, long-haired linor: five times lin puts her hair up (and one time she lets it down)
Relationships: Lin Beifong/Kya II
Comments: 35
Kudos: 110





	1. what must it be like to grow up that beautiful?

**Author's Note:**

> made [this post](https://taare-writes.tumblr.com/post/640605396749434880/listen-i-know-we-all-agree-its-a-bun-and-all-but) about lin's hair and totally played myself because i couldn't stop thinking about it afterwards. so here's this utterly self-indulgent little piece!

i.

When Lin Beifong is born, red and squalling like rough seas at sunset, she is in possession of ten tiny fingers, ten little toes, and a full head of thick, dark hair. 

Her mother runs it through her hands, feels the matted waves and the gentle curls under her fingers, and finally understands what Katara had meant when she’d said she’d go to war all over again if it meant keeping Bumi and Kya close. 

For the most part, Lin is an easy baby, quiet and somber from the start. She only ever fusses on visits with Aang’s brood, which Toph attributes to a certain waterbender’s bad influence ( _do_ not _spoil my child, Katara_ , becomes a refrain parroted almost as frequently as _Bumi, no!_ on the island). Toph only rolls her eyes as Lin squirms in an attempt to wriggle out of her mother’s arms and into Katara’s, chubby arms outstretched towards the proffered sweets. 

It isn’t long before Bumi, Kya, and Lin are joined by two new arrivals. Suyin and Tenzin are the opposite of their older siblings: they are loud, demanding, and being around them reminds Lin of the horns on the skiffs that ferry them to the island. Some days, she wonders if she can return Su to whichever store she came from — walk right up to the counter and ask for all twelve yuans back, please, this must be a defective model — so that things could go back to the way they were. There’s not much she can do about Tenzin, but at least Kya is still around, now that Bumi is always off to do big kid stuff. 

Kya isn’t like the others. 

Kya is there when Lin is just becoming familiar with her element, demonstrating the _katas_ fundamental to all forms of bending, soothing her frustrations when Lin can’t get them right the first time. Kya is there when Lin starts school and her classmates seem to think her an easy target, small and stubborn as she is, before Kya (older, cooler, _quicker_ Kya) steps in and shows them exactly what it means to mess with Lin Beifong. Kya’s even there when Lin’s upset and deliberately picking fights with everyone in sight, taking it in stride when Lin returns with a smile and a sorry and maybe even a treat (just for Kya).

Without fail, whenever Lin needs her — somehow, like the rocks that hold fast on the shore without washing into the beach, Kya’s always there. 

Including today. 

“No! I won’t do it! You can’t make me!” Lin slumps further into her seat, crossing her arms with as much anger as an eight-year-old can muster. School starts today, and the Beifongs are visiting Air Temple Island for their annual first day breakfast tradition. 

“Lin,” Toph says. “We’ve talked about this. You can wear your hair just like you do every other day for your class photo.” Every other day involves stuffing all of Lin’s thick locks into a facsimile of her mother’s standard bun. But every other day is not picture day at school, Lin contends, so the point is moot. 

“No.” Lin pulls her arms in tighter. “I don’t want your stupid bun. I want to look pretty like Aunt Katara.” 

Toph sighs, ignoring the slight. “Aunt Katara is busy, you know that, Lin. She’s helping Uncle Aang with something very important. And she’d be really upset if I told her just how you were behaving right now, you know.” 

“I don’t care,” Lin sulks. “I want hair loopies, and you can call Aunt Katara, or you can do them.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lin. You know I can’t do those for you. And it’s not appropriate, you’re not even Water Tribe—” 

“—maybe my dad is Water Tribe, you don’t know that he isn’t—”

“—that’s quite enough from you, young lady!—”

“Maybe I can help?” A small voice sounds from the corner, interrupting the argument. Lin cranes her neck to look for the source of the sound. 

“Could you really?” Toph asks, sighing with relief before she realizes exactly who is speaking. Eleven-year-old Kya emerges from the shadows. Toph’s eyes narrow, surveying the girl skeptically. “Do you even know how to recreate your mother’s loopies? I’ve never seen you in them before.” 

“Just because I don’t wear them, doesn’t mean I can’t do them,” retorts Kya, in typical pre-teen snark. “That’s mom’s style, not mine. Now do you want my help or not?” 

“Yeah mom, let Kya help!” Lin butts in. She doesn’t need her mom around right now, not when Kya’s here. Kya glances at her with a grateful smile. 

“Fine,” Toph says, throwing her hands up in the air to accede surrender. “Just remember that your ferry leaves in forty-five minutes. Don’t be late.” 

Kya takes Toph place behind Lin, tucking herself against the chair as she busies herself with the black strands of Lin’s braid. Lin nearly hums with happiness. “You could be nicer to your mom, you know.” 

At that, her good mood evaporates. Lin scowls, tucking her feet in and making herself very small. “You don’t know her like I do,” she asserts. “She’s never around, and she lets Su get away with whatever she wants. Now she won’t even let me do my hair the way I want.” She kicks at the embroidered rug underfoot. “Sometimes, I wish Aunt Katara could be my mom instead,” Lin confesses. 

Kya’s hands continue to work gently on her scalp. Lin nuzzles into the touch, soft as silk. “And _you_ don’t know what exactly you’re asking for, badgermole,” Kya says, borrowing her Aunt Toph’s nickname for the younger girl. Lin’s heart glows at the endearment coming from Kya. “Your mom does her best, I guess. And it’s not exactly all fun and games here at home.” 

“What do you mean?” Lin tries to turn, intrigued. Kya’s tone had turned serious for a moment, utterly unlike her. 

“Stay still!” Kya chides, holding her head in place. “It’s nothing,” she continues lightly, dismissing the question. “Forget I said anything. Now, how long do you want these loops?”

When they’re done, Lin examines herself in the mirror, turning to admire herself from all angles. “It’s beautiful,” she whispers, tugging at the braid. Kya leans against the wall, flushed with pride. 

“Would you—” Lin feels herself blushing fire-ferret red before she can even finish the question. “Would you, maybe, um, want to match with me?” 

Kya grins. “Me, walk in with the same hairstyle as Lin Beifong?” She pauses as if deep in thought. “I don’t know, Linny, I think they’re going to have trouble telling us apart.” 

Lin giggles. “We’ll be like twins. Come here,” she beckons, “I’ll help you do yours.” 

Fifty years later, the black-and-white ink of the yearbook is yellowed and worn, the moments inside memorialized in a relic of the past. Two pages, dog-eared and crinkled, stand out in particular. 

Year Three with Madame Jiao features Lin in the back row, standing taller than all her classmates, utterly resplendent in her hair-loopie glory. Year Six with Mister Zhang has Kya seated next to her teacher, well-poised, uniform immaculate, hair asymmetrical with loops slightly askew. She is beaming from ear to ear.


	2. falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush

ii.

Lin sometimes thinks that Tenzin is surprisingly well-adjusted for someone who’s grown up with the weight of an entire culture resting on his shoulders. 

“Dad!” Tenzin whines. “Come _here._ You know I can’t do anything with these _stupid bandages_ on because _someone_ had to tattoo _both hands at once_ —” 

Then again, sometimes Lin is reminded that he is just a child, prone to transitioning from perfect calm to riotous anger quick enough to cause whiplash. Mature for his age, the acolytes like to say. Well on his way to becoming the epitome of wisdom and tranquility that his father represents — but fifteen years old nonetheless. 

It had taken years for Aang to acquiesce that his second son and only airbending child was ready for his tattoos. Every bending form had to be impeccably executed, every verse on Air Nomad history repeated flawlessly before Aang was even willing to consider discussing mastery. As one of two living descendants of a nearly-extinguished bending lineage, settling for anything less than perfection was not in the cards. 

Lin is no stranger to lofty expectations, knows them as intimately as she knows the sweep of Tenzin’s neck or the brush of his stubble. She doesn’t remember when she’d started noticing those things. Maybe it was after Su had started talking about boys incessantly, or after Izumi had teased her one vacation about Tenzin’s increasingly obvious crush. And the more Lin had thought about it, the more it had made sense. 

Tenzin is solid and safe and _right_ as a partner, the children of the greatest benders alive taking on the world together. It’s probably fine that she can’t imagine growing old or getting married or starting a family together — those things came with time, after all, didn’t they? They haven’t kissed, not yet, but Lin knows it’s coming, inevitable as the tides or the turning of the seasons. She sometimes imagines what it would feel like — she’d ask Kya, but is abruptly reminded of her coyness on the subject. Lin has never understood it — open, generous Kya was normally willing to talk about everything under the sun, from the mundane to the maudlin — but on issues of _Feelings,_ the mushy ones with a capital F, she was strangely silent. 

“Are you ready yet?” Kya’s voice sounds from the background, interrupting her reverie, and no, Lin is _not_ ready yet, thank you very much. Kya pushes through the door to the powder room. “Your hair’s not done yet,” she observes.

“I _know,_ ” Lin says, obstinately. “I do have _eyes_.” 

Kya only laughs. “Okay, Lin,” she says, voice laden with affection. “Move over. I’ll do it.” Lin nearly trips over herself to make room. She loves when Kya does her hair, hands always steady and sure, slicing through knots like a knife through butter. Kya’s touch is warm on her skin.

She separates the strands deftly, twisting them together with expert precision. Lin’s not sure what she plans to do, but trusts her style. Kya seems to make everything her own, from the sensible to the absurd, comfortable as she is in her own skin. Lin’s confident that if tomorrow Kya walked out in nothing but an airbender’s wrap over water tribe furs, she’d start a new trend, even if the colors did clash horribly. 

“Are you going with Tenzin to the Western Air Temple next week?” Lin starts, as way of making conversation. 

Kya is silent for a beat. Lin wonders if she’s said something wrong. “Lin, there’s something I need to tell you,” she offers, finally. Up, down, across, through — the steady sweep of Kya’s hands continues. Lin doesn’t like the sound of Kya’s tone. 

“What are you talking about?” She sits up straighter. 

“I’m not going to be in town next week,” Kya states, matter-of-factly. 

“You mean, like you’re taking a vacation? Why is that a big deal?” 

“Kind of,” Kya says cryptically. “Turn.” She shifts Lin’s head lightly to repeat the braid on the other side. The gentle pull on Lin’s scalp is a comfortable reminder of Kya’s presence. Her mother and Su had long since left, their simpler hairstyles infinitely less fussy, leaving Lin alone to ponder her own reflection. 

“It’s sort of — think of it as an extended vacation.” Up, down, across, through. The hypnotic motions almost serve to drive Lin to distraction. 

But not completely. “You’re going away?” 

Kya just hums in acknowledgement. Lin forces herself to stay put, keeps her eyes shut or else risk freeing the tears that threaten to spill over momentarily. Her eyes sting from the effort. 

Lin tries to collect herself, forces her voice to keep from cracking. She settles for a single word, just to be safe. “Don’t.” 

“Don’t what?” 

“Don’t. Don’t go away. I don’t want you to.” _I need you to stay,_ remains unspoken in the air between them, but Lin’s sure Kya hears it all the same. 

“You’re sixteen, and you don’t know what you want,” Kya says gently, lifting the angry set of Lin’s jaw to meet her eyes. She’s done with the braids, Lin notes, as Kya moves to pick up the odds and ends needed to set them together.

“And you always seem to know what I want, don’t you?” Everyone is always telling Lin what to think: don’t be upset that mom is always busy, don’t be mad when Su acts out, don’t be lonely when Kya and Tenzin and Bumi go home to their picture-perfect family. Everyone she meets wants to dictate how Lin Beifong feels. She’d just never have guessed that Kya would be one of those people.

“Lin, it’s not like that.”

“Then please, tell me what it _is_ like.” 

Lin feels rather than sees Kya connect the braids in the middle of her head, wrapping them tightly and fastening them with bobby pins in some kind of complex chignon. Kya seems frustrated, like she wants to stamp her foot and scream to make Lin understand, but is reining it in just below the surface, taking it out on the hair instead. Lin can tell when she’s holding back. Lin’s always been able to tell when it comes to Kya. As it is, the older girl only lets escape a single sigh. “You wouldn’t get it,” she says, quietly, stepping away as Lin angles herself to examine Kya’s handiwork. “All done.” 

“It’s stunning,” Lin says. She means it. It’s feminine and delicate and everything Lin would expect to hate on herself, but Kya’s somehow made it work. She feels radiant, bright as Uncle Zuko’s powerful flame. 

“It is,” Kya says. Oddly, she doesn’t seem to be looking at her hair, but meeting her gaze in the mirror instead. There’s something warm and unshakable and indecipherable about it, but Lin had never been as good at reading Kya as the other way around. 

Kya hopes she’d been sufficiently diverted, Lin knows, but she isn’t eight years old anymore. “You said I wouldn’t understand. Try me,” she says, kinder this time. 

Kya huffs. “It’s just — Tenzin is here, doing his airbending thing, and Bumi is gone, training for the United Forces, and I’m just… I’m just here. Like deadweight that’s going to sink this island if I stick around for too long.” Lin can only blink, unused to the emotional dam bursting open in front of her right now. Kya, sweet Kya, always the jovial, outgoing, bubbly one. What did it mean that she’d been holding all of this in? And what did it mean that Lin had simply taken her for granted, like she had all those years ago, assuming Kya would always be around, and hadn’t noticed? 

“I — I can’t just sit around and see everyone move on in front of me,” Kya continues, regarding Lin sharply. “And I definitely can’t stay here watching you make eyes at my baby brother — yes, I’ve noticed.” Lin flushes under the gravity of Kya’s contemplation. She thought she’d been more discreet, but she should have known there was no hiding from Kya. Kya, her ever-present best friend. Kya, who’s always been able to read her like an open book. 

“I’ve learned a lot from mom,” Kya finally continues. “And now I want to learn more. About what life is like outside Republic City. About healing styles from across the world. I want to _help_ people, like my parents do. And I’m never going to be able to do that by staying on this island.” The way the words fall from her mouth, well-constructed and measured, makes Lin wonder just how long Kya’s felt like she’d been living in her own open-air prison. 

And then the reality of the situation hits her. Kya wants to leave _. Kya_ wants to _leave_. Her pillar of strength, her one constant since childhood, is moving on and leaving her behind. Lin is beginning to wonder about the common denominator here — her father, her mother, Su — maybe they were all escaping _her_. Maybe that’s just who she is — Lin Beifong, serial disappointment, designed to be discarded like a cheap toy or rotten produce after its sell-by date. Maybe there were no parts of her that were redeemable, that would make even considering staying worthwhile. 

“Don’t do that,” Kya says pointedly. She’s doing that thing again, Lin notes, where she seems to be able to peer straight into her and discern all the thoughts Lin’s not quite willing to share. 

“Do what?” 

“Do that thing where you descend into self-pity again.” She sighs. “You’re my best friend, Lin, and I want you to be happy, whatever that means. But you need to understand that _I_ need to do this, for myself. I need to grow up and move on from being in love with—” she clasps her hands over her mouth, clearly having revealed too much. 

“In love with what?” Lin suddenly has to know. Is there someone else in Kya’s life, someone who’s causing her to run away? She’ll fight them with her own two hands, she really will. 

“—Republic City,” Kya finishes lamely. 

“Sure.” Lin’s not sure she believes her, but at this point, she isn’t sure what to believe. 

“Whatever.” She laughs, mussing Lin’s newly-coiffed hair. Lin swats her hand away. “It’s not like I’m turning into a pumpkin. I’ll still write. You will write, won’t you?” 

And Lin does, hours dedicated to writing detailed soliloquies that she hopes will make Kya laugh, reminisce, feel less lonely and more at home, wherever she is. Kya’s replies come once a month, like clockwork — _you’ll never believe what I just found out, Lin_ , _did you know that Avatar Kyoshi married her bodyguard?_ and _did you know how many fire flakes you can fit in your mouth at one time? Guess what — it’s a lot._ Lin relishes each word, pores over the letters like they’re priceless tomes from the library of Wan Shi Tong himself. 

Lin writes about everything. She writes about school, about her mother and Su, about Aunt Katara and Uncle Aang, and eventually, about how Tenzin finally got his act together and managed to squeak out a _yes_ to her offer to be his girlfriend. She’s happy, she thinks. And isn’t that what Kya had wanted for her after all? 

But maybe she’d misjudged. Because, slowly, steadily, Kya’s responses descend into a sporadic trickle at best, shorter and more succinct until one day, they stop coming at all. 

Lin pries Kya’s last letter from their holding place, secure in an ornate jewelry box (her grandmother’s gift). She stares at it for a moment. Enclosed alongside Kya’s neat hand is a clearly candid photo of the two of them at Tenzin’s master ceremony. Lin doesn’t remember this one — it must have been shot accidentally, while preparing for the family portrait. Kya is concentrating on Lin, deep in focus while Lin gazes on at Aang and Tenzin, father and son luminous with pride. 

Lin didn’t know she’d brought it with her, but now knows why she’d sent it back. She can imagine Kya carrying the photo with her, secreting it away in a wallet somewhere, securing it in a sleeve so it survives water and wind and every other element that’s been thrown at Kya. It’s clear that Lin is no longer a priority in Kya’s life, to be brought along when convenient and then wrapped up and jettisoned when it wasn’t. She doesn’t quite know what’s changed, or why this is happening; can’t really think over the hammering of her heartbeat as it slowly rends over the loss of her (former) best friend. 

Lin runs her thumb along the careful styling of her braids, each tress starkly visible with the back of Lin’s head the only part of her in focus. Years may have passed, but the style is as stunning as ever.

But it belongs in the past, along with whispered conversations and wholehearted compliments and everything else that was encompassed in the whirlwind that is Kya. She crumples the letter and photo and tosses both into the spitting fire in front of her, and never wears that braided upsweep again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> van this chapter is 1000000 times better because of all your help!!! i am absolutely indebted.  
> everyone bless your eyes with van's ridiculously adorable art here [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/reigncorps) and [here](https://twitter.com/covendyke)!

**Author's Note:**

> bold of me to start another fic with two unfinished ones, i know i know. hopefully it’s worth it.  
> comments = <3


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